The . . . thenerve.
Arabella didn’t have the words for what she’d like to do to Mr. Gavin McKenzie. But it involved things like boiling vats of oil, the rack, and a dank, dark dungeon.
“Arabella!”
Preoccupied as she’d been with the unexpected sight ofMr. McKenzie, she’d barely noticed the white-haired woman at his side.
Her grandmother.
The old lady was short and stout, with kindly features and the same bright blue eyes as both Arabella and her mother. One hand rested over her mouth as if to keep emotion from spilling out.
Relief spread through Arabella at the sight of her. At last, someone who would save her from the nightmare of this past week.
The woman stepped forward. “Ach, it feels as if I’ve waited my whole life for this moment. And just look at ye, a grown and beautiful woman! Here in Scotland at last!”
Arabella’s smile faded. Was her grandmother daft? Senile? Could she not see that Arabella had risked life and limb scaling treacherous highland terrain? That she was muddy and soaked through, and it was all the fault of that dreadful Mr. McKenzie?
“Oh yes,” Arabella replied, tone biting. “And what a welcome your country has given me.”
Her grandmother paused mid-step, features frozen. She exchanged a look with Mr. McKenzie, then gave him a small but determined nod that Arabella couldn’t decipher.
All at once her face broke into an unnaturally bright smile as she reached out to pat Arabella’s cheek. “It appears ye took a pleasant walk. There’s certainly naething better for one’s constitution than some nice brisk air and a wee bit of rain.”
A pleasant walk? Brisk air and a bit of rain? It was hardly—
Just then the spritely woman threw her arms around Arabella. For a moment, the gesture threw her off balance. Her grandmother came up only to her chin, but there was nothing feeble about her embrace. It was far different from the awkward way Mother patted her shoulder after they’d had oneof their “talks” and Arabella had agreed to one of her requests. Grandmother’s embrace was fierce and heartfelt and seemed to warm Arabella in a way even the warmest quilt couldn’t do.
“Have some towels brought up tae her room at once, Cargill. And water for a hot bath.” Grandmother released her, then linked her arm through Arabella’s. “We’ll get ye warm and dry in no time.”
“But my trunks are still a mile outside the village. And my lady’s maid is back at The Fox and Crown...”
“We cannae send for them until the weather clears, ye ken. But ’twill be nae trouble at all tae pull out one of yer mother’s auld dresses.”
She led Arabella to the door, pausing to turn and speak over her shoulder. “Gavin, ye will be joining us for dinner, won’t ye?”
Arabella turned back to find Mr. McKenzie watching her, amusement dancing in his eyes. She could have cursed him for sitting there with such nonchalance, looking more dashing than any Scotsman had a right to be.
Or any Englishman, for that matter.
While she, sodden from head to toe, looked no better than a drowned rat. A drowned and muddyrat. Inwardly seething, she swore to herself before the summer was over she’d seehimcovered in mud.
Almost as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he gave her a piratical grin. “I would like that very much. Very much, indeed.”
GAVIN STOOD IN the dining room near the head of the table, still grinning.
He couldn’t remember a better day in recent memory.
Part of that was due to being back in Ballintraid, where he belonged. Far from city life, away from the crushes of London and the manifold obligations that met him whenever he visited Edinburgh.
But the other part was thanks to Miss Arabella Hughes.
Did he feel a modicum of guilt as he thought of all that lay in store for her? Perhaps. But with her English airs and outlandish prejudice against Scots, the young lady had brought it upon herself.
Nan slipped into the dining room, shaking her head. “I look ridiculous, do I not?”
Gavin measured his answer, for she did look a wee bit ridiculous. Like some sort of matriarchal clan leader come back from centuries past. A tartan shawl was crisscrossed over her chest, and on her head, another plaid had been fashioned into a turban.
“’Tis for a good cause,” he said diplomatically.
